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Fear & Loathing in Ajijic

(Author’s note: This is the fiftieth anniversary of Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. If you have never read it, do so. He pioneered something called Gonzo Journalism which mixes the illusory and the real, stone cold sober insight and drug-fueled raving. And it’s pretty funny, ‘tho profane. Here is my homage to the genre. Again, it’s all creative writing and fiction!)

We were somewhere south of the airport, driving up a steep grade in the pass over the Sierra San Juan Cosala, when the brownies started to take effect. These were no run-of-the-mill, Pillsbury brownies. No, my amigo Juan Rey used only Ghiardelli starter, and added a special mix of fifty-seven herbs and spices which would drive the working dogs at George H. W. Bush International airport into a frenzy. There were no dogs here on the carretera, except for the bloated ones at the side of the road, but I felt giddy at the thought of spilling out a container of special brownies on the floor of Customs in Houston and watching the dogs drag the CBP agents across the room.

“What’s so funny?” my companion shouted over the roar of Led Zeppelin from the car stereo.

I didn’t answer; I didn’t even realize I was laughing. I was too focused on dropping into second gear and hitting the gas, aiming the rented Tsuru in between a pick-up truck with an abuela in the bed and a family of three puttering next to them on a motorbike. I expertly split the difference on a hairpin turn and broke into the clear . . . of yet another uphill turn.

A Tsuru was never meant to be driven like this. Actually, a Tsuru was never technically meant to be driven. It was a car at its best up on concrete blocks in the barrio, where you got in and shared una fria with some locals as the sun went down. A Tsuru was essentially a Nissan Sentry with all of its safety and comfort features removed, then sold at cost in an aspiring market like Mexico where a growing middle class was newly experiencing the joy of the open road . . . with predictable results.

Tsuru crash test results

When I picked up the Tsuru at the airport rental counter, I just ignored the small print stating the rental company was not responsible for the costs associated with removing human remains from the vehicle interior in the event of an accident. A good garden hose would do the trick. I realized my companion was still waiting on an answer about that sinister laugh.

“The dogs! You should have seen them with the brownies. . .” I finally replied, but my companion was having none of it.

“Look out for the cows!” he screamed. What cows? Where does he see cows? In the middle of a freakin’ highway, in the middle of the freakin’ night? Damn brownies! I cut to the outside of the curve and saw a bovine head flash past my side-view mirror. This was no time to linger, so I stepped on the gas, alert for the giant iguanas I knew would soon follow. When we made it to Ajijic, I was going to find out exactly what were the fifty-seven herbs and spices in those brownies. For now, I took a long swig from my vampiro, and kept watching for the iguanas.

—————————-Morning—————————

I awoke the next morning and looked down at the blood-red stain on my guayabera. Great. I was in town less than one full day and now somebody had expertly lifted my kidneys. Or maybe my appendix; could they tell the difference? Just another tourist used for medical practice. I pulled open the shirt but saw no scars. The empty vampiro bag I had clutched all the way from the airport fell to my side.

Why was I even here, in the middle-of-nowhere Mexico? I had a gig to cover a water skiing competition on Lake Chapala. At first I thought it was some set-up by the cartels: lure innocent gringos down with an imaginary sporting event, then harvest their organs. But it seemed legit, as it was the tenth annual competition, and so far no reports of missing organs. But water-skiing, on Lake Chapala? Even the locals only pretend to go into the lake (up to their knees, wearing plastic trash bags on their feet) and nobody, ever, takes out a speed boat. There are things out there, under the water. Things you don’t want to run into. Things like grandstands, and barbed wire, and electric cables. See, the Mexicans reclaim the shore when the lake wanes, and build all kinds of things. When the lake refills, they run off, leaving an Atlantis of strange artifacts just under the waterline.

I bought a bottle of tequila, a mango, and a six of Tecate and sat down on the malecon to watch the show. Perhaps there would be a traumatic amputation or a sudden explosion when electric current met marine gas-oil. Serves them right, coming down here and not even offering a kidney. Dammit, you have two, and that guy begging at the corner in front of the WalMart probably needs at least one. But there was nothing savage to see here. Just speed boats, and people water-skiing. I grabbed the tequila and headed up Colon to get some comida.

My companion was in the bar and motioned me to join him. Next to him sat a square-jawed, Marine-looking character. He said his name was William, but I was sure it’s Bill, or Billy, or Mac or Buddy.

“As your doctor, I advise you to order the chilaquiles with the two-for-one Bloody Mary” my companion intoned. Billy interjected, “I didn’t know you were a doctor. . .” but I cut him off.

“He’s not. It’s a Goddamn border promotion. He’s a podiatrist, but don’t let him anywhere near your feet, as he has outstanding malpractice cases in ten states.” “Wh-wh-what?” Billy stammered, but I laid it on thicker and heavier, “you should have seen it. He actually attached a sixth toe on a man’s foot and tried to charge him extra for it!” My companion was just staring down at his migas while Billy sat with his square jaw now hanging open.

After I ordered the chilaquiles and Bloody Mary duo, Billy tried to break the uncomfortable silence: “So you’re here to cover the water skiing competition?” I glared at my companion, but he put both palms up and mouthed “not me.” Of course not. Pueblito or small town, it’s all the same: everybody knows everybody else’s business. There was no way I was going to cover that crap, even if it involved somebody being severed in half. I needed another reason to be here. I glanced suspiciously to both sides, then whispered, “William, you look like a former Marine, can you keep a secret?” “Semper Fi!” he growled.

“That water-skiing competition is just a cover.” He looked at me, puzzled but obviously interested. “I’m down here for the company.” I paused for effect, and he stared, unblinking, like a near-sighted lizard. “The agency. Do I need to spell it out? CI-A!” I spat out the acronym “see-ah” the way the locals do, for added authenticity, and I could see the hook was set.

“I always thought that water-skiing thing was crazy,” he replied. I continued, “Just crazy enough. My companion and I are recon for the beaches here. As a Marine, I assume you know the strategic importance of beaches?” He was nodding his head yes, but his eyes said no. “Beaches?” he whispered, “but for what?” “Good God, man, for the invasion!” I muttered. He was clearly struggling with the concept, but desperately wanted to buy-in, “but it’s a lake, how do they get here?” I slammed the empty Bloody Mary glass down on the table for emphasis, “where have you been? Don’t you know about Space Force? The Space Marines? What do you think we have them for?”

“Oh, yeah, them. And they’ll have the element of surprise” he added, now fully on board. I should have stopped there, but my third and fourth Bloody Marys arrived, so I chugged one down and then took it to the limit, one more time: “We did have surprise, but now we come to find out there’s a rat. Somebody down here has been talking, and when we find the rat-bastard, well, we’ll take both his kidneys!” Billy’s eyes were wide as saucers, “What do you mean?”

“William,” I paused and leaned closer, “you don’t think the Mexicans left all that crap out in the lake for shits-n-grins, do you? Barbed wire, electrical lines, hell there’s probably a slew of mines and hedgehogs down there, too. They are waiting for us!” “No shit? That makes soooooo much more sense!” he nodded. I needed to make good my escape, so I looked around, then waited for the mesera to walk past: “We have to find the rat. If you hear any gringo down here talking smack about ‘Merica, call me at this number.” I wrote the digits down on the napkin and handed it over. “If I sound confused, I’m just pretending not to know you because it’s an open line. Just keep calling me and giving me any names you have. Can you do that for me, Marine?”

“Yes, sir!” he replied, and I threw down a two hundred peso note on the table and made my way out. What the CBP desk at George H. W. Bush International airport was going to do with this information was not my problem.

———————Afternoon————————

Now that the lake skiing gig was dead in the water, I needed an alternative subject for an article to justify my advance. I was sitting in the plaza, el centro del centro, smoking a fine Cuban cigar. Here I was, deep in the heart of the expat dream, and it was time to figure it all out. This place was right out of some spaghetti western knock-off of a 1950’s horror flick.: small Mexican fishing village suddenly invaded by a ragtag army of aging hippy-zombies followed by soul-less real estate speculators, working side-by-side in some bizarre Hitler-Stalin non-aggression pact to destroy paradise. How the Canadians fit in to the plot, who knows, but I swear I’ll run my Tsuru over the next pair of socks-and sandal-ed feet I see!

I saw my companion discretely making his way into the plaza, headed straight for me. Or at least he was trying to be discrete, as only a six-foot four-inch Irishman weighing well-nigh twenty stone can be. He had on cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, aviator sun glasses and a mop of bright red hair. Which went well with the permanent rash-red color of his skin; the tropics are not kind to sons of Erin who choose to ignore sunscreen.

He approached and handed me a margarita, saying, “As your lawyer, I suggest you hydrate with this before you go mad in the noon-day sun.” It was true: I was half-mad with thirst. And he was a lawyer, a pretty good one at that. Faced with the unrelenting stream of malpractice claims, he had finished law school and defended himself, ably motioning and delaying until he could either exhaust the plaintiffs or flee to another part of the country. I admired his courtroom demeanor, even if I would still never let him touch my feet.

“What in the hell is going on here?” I wailed. “Does Mexico even know it’s being invaded? Do they not care? Don’t they see what the gringos did to California, not to mention Tejas! Arizona is like some sinister re-creation of The Villages without the redeeming quality of an occasional hurricane.” I paused to lick some salt off the rim of the plastic margarita glass. “Where did you get this anyway?” I asked, waving the drink at my companion. “There was man with a little stand selling them on the street. I told him to put yours in a glass, because you hate sucking your drinks through a straw in a plastic bag.” “Did you see what he put in it? Was there any alcohol? Who knows what else is in there? Stem cells? Human growth hormone? What were you thinking?”

My companion just smiled and shrugged. “You’re too wound up. You need to take in the local vibe. This is Mexico. Don’t get hostile, don’t ask too many questions, just sit back and enjoy what it is.” “What it is, is a cocktail from hell,” I retorted. I refilled the glass with tequila from my litro and resumed: “Mexico lives by the Pirate code, everything is ‘more of a guideline than a rule.’ But they don’t know what they don’t know, as Rummy once said. They have this little piece of paradise, and they haven’t figured out what is happening to it.” “Maybe they do know,” my companion said, “but they are ok with it.”

I glanced around the plaza. The tie-dyed shirts, the man buns with crazy, gray, wire-hairs sticking out? Didn’t fool me for a second. They were just the first wave, harmless enough looking, to put the locals at ease. Gringos locos. Next there’d be the aging Jane Fonda wanna-bees, dressed in 80’s chic (torn sweatshirts and leggings, of course). And the fresh-faced retirees, from Middletown, USA, buying up the hillsides and crowding the markets, marveling at the prices while giving a loud “Bone-ASS DEE-ass” to the frightened locals.

I don’t know what they were all up to, but the sun felt good on my shoulders, and the man-with-the-margarita stand came by and refilled mine before the ice could melt. I would get to the bottom of it, the glass and the invasion. But it was gonna’ take some time.

Book Report: How the World Really Works

Subtitled “A scientist’s guide to our past, present, and future,” this NY Times best-seller was written by Vaclav Smil, a Czech-Canadian scientist and policy analyst. His has authored deep studies in energy and agriculture, but he excels in interdisciplinary studies and describing complex problems without lapsing into confusing jargon. As I used to tell my analysts, “anybody can show how complex a problem is; your job is to make all that complexity instantly understandable.” Smil, the Distinguished Professor Emeritus at the University of Manitoba, provides just enough data while wading through vast quantities of the same across multiple fields of endeavor to show why some policies are possible in the real world, and others are not.

Take the synergy between food and oil, for example. Smil details how even if we abandon fuel for automobiles, oil and its products were essential to the earlier green revolution in agriculture, and cannot be replaced (easily) in airplane fuel, fertilizer, or plastics. In the absence of technological advances to replace these products (technological advances which are not being seriously sought), there is no way to feed the current eight billion people on the planet, let alone assumed population growth. Reducing waste, changing diets, and investing in research can get us about halfway there, but would leave us returned to a world where half the population faces imminent starvation: hardly a desirable state. Thus Petroleum, Oil, and Lubricants (POL) remain essential products for the foreseeable future (say, fifty years), regardless of how many of us drive electric cars. De-carbonization is a non-starter, as long as we value eating.

Smil takes a rhetorical axe to several sacred cows beside de-carbonization, including globalization, climate change, artificial intelligence (AI), and space colonization. He is not a polemicist or a denier; he just insists on scientific facts in place of assumptions, tweets, and narratives. For example:

He shows how globalization has come in waves (the first when Rome ruled, another during the early 20th Century, a third in the 1980s, all driven by a combination of technological and political change. It is neither a “force of nature” (pace President Clinton) nor inevitable, and it can and has waned recently. He demonstrates how the economic wisdom of relying on a single source of medical protective gear (China) left the entire world vulnerable during the covid pandemic, and also led to the ridiculous point that Canada, a nation with the world’s largest supply of usable forests, imports nearly all its toothpicks and toliet paper from China, a place with few such resources. Globalization is a policy choice which has winners and losers, not a wave which cannot be resisted.
Smil turns things on its head when he professes his complete acceptance of the “science of global warming” while criticizing the “religion of climate change.” He has no time for climate deniers: he demonstrates that the relationship between carbon and global temperature was first identified by American scientist Eunice Foote in 1856, and the Swedish chemist Svante Arrhenius correctly identified how much and where the warming would occur in 1896! None of this was especially controversial until the science of global warming evolved into the public policy debates and the catastrophic predictions of climate change proponents. Note Smil is certain we need to both reduce carbon sources and mitigate its effects; yet he brooks no fools. His take down of Emmanuel Macron’s famous tweet (“Our house is burning. Literally. The Amazon rainforest–the lungs which produces (sic) 20% of our planet’s oxygen–is on fire.”) points out that (1) lungs don’t create oxygen, they use it, (2) plants in general use as much oxygen as they make, and (3) at current rates of consumption, it would take 1500 years to reduce Earth’s oxygen-rich atmosphere by three percent (the equivalent of moving from New York City to Salt Lake City).
Smil is a true environmentalist, but he will not succumb to hyperbole or exaggeration for effect. He points out that all of our increasingly complex climate models have barely changed Arrhenius’ 1896 forecast, and that the key driver of increasing atmospheric carbon content was the rise of China. In a single generation China moved almost a billion people from near-starvation to owning automobiles and air conditioners, at the cost of huge increases in atmospheric carbon. India and Africa are now poised to make the same ascent: how do we deny them? Or what do we do to accommodate them?
Regarding the replacement of real things (like concrete, ammonia, plastic and steel, what he calls the four pillars of modern civilization) with virtual things, Smil can barely conceal his contempt. He shows how modern civilization is based on the former four, while the latter is a recent offshoot which also requires enormous amounts of silicon and energy. The virtual world relies on this invisible connection, and while the virtual world can change quickly, it is entirely dependent on the less-easily changed real world. Thus the real world always trumps the virtual one.
As to the growth of artificial intelligence, he asks how that played out during the pandemic (answer: it didn’t). In the end, “the best we could do is what the residents of Italian towns did in the Middle Ages: stay away from others, stay inside for 40 days, isolate for quaranta giorni.” And the singularity (when artificial intelligence merges with and replaces human intelligence)? He views it as a weird, metaphysical bit of wishful science fiction. The recent claim by a Google engineer that its LaMDA chatbot model was sentient is a case study: while it can hold elaborate conversations that are eerily human, it also cannot correctly answer a question like “when did Saturn pass through the Panama Canal?” Any six-year old can quickly discern the conceptual impossibility of a planet passing through an earthly canal, but these are only words to the best AI we have.
Finally, space travel and colonization, even of nearby Mars, faces so many staggering challenges that it only serves to underline the necessity of safeguarding the one planet and one environment in which our species is uniquely suited to thrive.

His final chapters on risk (like how likely you are to die from visiting a hospital versus being killed by a terrorist) are instructive, and he even delves into how we understate risks where we feel we have control (driving a car) and overstate those where we apparently don’t (a plane crash). Smil even shows how our successful effort to increase longevity created a larger pool of older people vulnerable to a pandemic, and true enough, the elderly were vastly overrepresented in the covid death rolls.

As you might imagine, Smil is something of an iconoclast. He lives a frugal, thoughtful life embodying his beliefs in less consumption and reduced energy use. He debunks conservative and liberal shibboleths alike (he shreds the notion there is nothing America can do about gun violence, for example). He doesn’t argue for inaction; he says we face serious challenges and need to act, but we need to understand what we’re doing first, and avoid simplistic solutions (like de-carbonization). He does discuss reasonable changes in diet, better ways to improve agricultural production, increases in insulation and water use that could make a huge difference.

As you can probably tell, I enjoyed his book immensely. The statistical presentation (using scientific notation frequently, like 1 x 10^-2 for example) gets a little annoying over time, but it is forgivable and necessary. At the beginning, throughout, and in the end, he reminds the reader he is neither a magician nor a prophet, just a person who seeks to understand things before leaping to policy conclusions. That’s refreshing!

Travel Tsunami

Lessons learned from our three-week excursion to France & Italy:

The days of pandemic-limited travel are over. There are a few hold-outs: China is acting like the authoritarian bully it always was, Japan is “inviting” a few tourists, and New Zealand has officially announced it is seceding from planet Earth and no longer welcomes humans. I was only kidding about that last one . . . I think.
The US administration which touted “following the science” continued to insist on masks when almost no one else did (is the EU anti-science? the WHO?). Now they have given in and removed the mask mandate for airlines and airports. But you still need to carry a mask, and sometimes wear it, although the general trend is no masks and no tests if you are vaccinated. If not vaccinated, countries either refuse entry (to tourists, mostly) or demand negative tests, which are becoming increasingly difficult to find.
The bad news is people have the itch to get out, some money and/or vacation saved from all that work-from-home, and they want to travel. Remember how the lack of available goods (supply chain disruption) sparks shortages and inflation? In the travel sector, the airlines and cruise ships and hotels and theme parks and museums and restaurants and everything else are short staffed. And they can’t surge to keep up with demand. So prices are sky-rocketing while service is dropping. Examples:
1. KLM airlines cancelled European (local) flights into its Schipol (Amersterdam) hub one weekend because it only had enough staff on hand to service international (i.e., intercontinental) arrivals! No problem for US arrivals, but your connection may have been cancelled too, since it was a local departure and there were no local arrivals!
2. Paris airport workers conducted a surprise mini-strike (due to overwork) the day we were leaving Charles DeGaulle airport (CDG), bringing it to a standstill just after we got out.
3. Museums and exhibits have limited hours and tours. Most nicer restaurants insisted on dinner reservations.

All this will get rapidly worse starting this week. There were many Americans who were afraid to travel because they were concerned they might (1) get sick somewhere else, (2) test positive before leaving and forfeit a planned vacation, or (3) test positive overseas and get stuck in a perhaps costly quarantine. This was a sizable group that was planning domestic trips in lieu of international travel, and now with $5.00 a gallon gas and no testing requirement, they will spring for the airports.
Delays and missed connections are rampant. Mexico City Benito Juarex (MEX) international airport has two seperate terminals, but they closed their luggage re-check desk for international arrivals, which meant we had to leave security, pick up our luggage and drag it to another terminal then re-check as if we just departing. We would have missed our flight, but of course, it was delayed ninety minutes too! Lines are long everywhere; Amsterdam Schipol had a six hour regular security line! For this reason, I strongly recommend availing yourself of every shortcut you can. Examples:
1. We have Global Entry (GE), which allows us to line cut both US Immigration and Customs when entering the US. One stop at a kiosk and go. GE also gives us TSA Pre-check at US airports gratis. GE costs $100 (per person) and is good for five years. It does require a short questionnaire and an interview, but unless you’re a felon or smuggled something illegally before and got caught, you will probably get approved. TSA pre-check costs $85 (per person) for five years and covers children under twelve, but does NOT get you Global Entry. Some airline loyalty programs and credit cards will reimburse you for TSA Pre-check, GE, or Clear.
2. Speaking of which, we also signed up for Clear, which is a private security program for airports, concerts, sporting events, etc. in the US. Again, it is a line-cutting program that speeds you through based on biometric data. It takes about ten minutes to sign up at the airport, costs $179 per year, and you can add three family members for $50 each (per year). These programs (GE, TSA Pre-check, Clear) work in combination. At the airport, they may have four different security lines: Regular, Clear, TSA Precheck, and TSA PreCheck with Clear. We have used the latter at O’hare (Chicago) and Hartsfield-Jackson (Atlanta), two of the world’s busiest, during peak hours. The result: no line whatsoever. We were escorted past crowds of hundreds to the front of the line and put through the “minimum security” (belt/shoes on, liquids & electronics stay in bag) lane in seconds.
3. At the very least, download the free Customs & Border Protection (CBP) Mobile Passport Control (MPC) App, which automates part of your re-entry to the US. While there were multiple options earlier, CBP now only accepts this one. It will work well and quickly, IF your arrival airport uses it and the CBP personnel are staffing it. GE costs more, but has always worked for us, and the MPC app does nothing for clearing Customs. Sometimes there are no Customs checks (honor system) when you arrive in the US, but if there are, there is no avoiding the lines without GE.
4. SIgn up for airline loyalty programs with any airline you fly. Sometimes it will get you an improved security line status. Also, ask your airline about upgrades at check in or purchasing access to priority security lines. Sometimes there are cheap upgrades or only a few dollars cost for priority security check in. It never hurts to ask!
5. Get airline lounge access. This is tricky, because lounge access can be available based on your ticket status, frequent flyer status, credit card status, or simply purchased. However, due to rising demand, airlines are starting to turn away some forms of access or limit it by number of hours or type of flight (arrival/departure). So you have to figure out what works for your travel style and price. But outside the lounges, the airport waiting areas are packed: it’s noisy, uncomfortable, and there may be nowhere to sit down. Inside the lounges, there are food and drinks, plenty of seats, showers and bathrooms and spa treatments. It’s an expensive-but-worthwhile oasis in a travel tsunami!
Book early for hotels, flights, and rental cars. Not only are prices rising well above inflation throught the peak summer months, but next Thanksgiving & Christmas will probably be the first major holidays AFTER pandemic restrictions are lifted, and everybody will be out on the move. Not only will you save money, but by waiting you risk being told nothing is available at any price!
Plan on unexpected challenges during travel days. What if your flight is cancelled (restaurants or hotels in the airport? What if anything does the airline owe you?), delayed (purchase lounge access?), or re-routed (our Air France flight MEX-CDG decided to make a refuel in Cancun!). Luggage is getting lost, flights missed, and itineraries ruined in record numbers. Just be prepared!

Patience is the order of the day. Travel was difficult-but-possible during the pandemic. If you prepare and plan ahead, you can weather the travel storm now, too.

Ravenna

Our last stop in Italy, a day trip back in time to the final days of the Western Christian Empire. Ravenna is a city near the Adriatic coast in the Emilia-Romagna region, north-east of Florence. As Rome became a punching bag for various barbarian tribes in the 5th century AD, the Romans moved the capital to Ravenna, which they felt was more defensible (they were misinformed) because it is surrounded by swampy lands. Ravenna was occupied by the Ostrogoth King Theodoric the Great, becoming his capital, before being liberated by armies sent by Justinian I, the Eastern Roman Emperor, in 540 AD. It was during this Byzantine period that most of Ravenna’s great monuments were completed.

Who needs Pisa? Yes, it is leaning that much

What you’ll find in Ravenna is a series of brick structures dating from the 5th and 6th centuries in odd patterns: not just the traditional cruciform shape with a long nave, but also small circles and octagons. Inside, the walls are decorated with immense, colorful mosaic depictions of the early Church: saints and Bible scenes and other religious imagery. They are vivid and spring to life in indirect sunlight. Most amazing is that many of the structures and art are intact and in situ: you are seeing the art where it was meant to be seen when it was completed over fifteen hundred years ago! I found the art more than a little overwhelming. First, there was so much to see, you’ll need an appreciation of art to take it all in. Second, you need time just to digest it all. And third, I was struck by the juxtaposition of mosaic art, which I associate with Eastern Orthodoxy, in ancient Roman churches. But this art style, which is Byzantine, predates by several centuries the Great Schism between Rome and Constantinople. It is a clash of styles, not beliefs.*

The Basilica of San Vitale:

Inside the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, and the Baptistry:

Basilica de Sant’Apollonare:

Theodoric chartered this one

From the Bishop’s palace:

Oh and some famous guy called Dante lived here. We associate him with Firenze (he was Florentine, after all), but he was in exile when he wrote the Divine Comedy and died in Ravenna. They’ve kept him ever since, much to Florence’s regret.

Ravenna is off the beaten path, so you probably must make an effort to visit. Those who enjoy great art, architecture, or church history will find it a rewarding trip!

*somewhere out there is a fellow fervent believer who would quickly point out that these churches were dedicated by schismatic followers of the Arian heresy, which for a time dominated throughout the Roman Church. But let’s not get into an argument over homoousis, shall we?

Eataly

No, not the retailer, the real thing.

Our sojourn in France has ended, and we’ve made it safe and sound to our daughter and son-in-law’s place in Italy. Random thoughts:

Some places are pretty boring to fly in to. Atlanta is like that. There is a city center out there in the distance, and a lot of suburbia beneath you, and you land and . . . that’s it. Reagan National airport in DC sits on reclaimed land in the Potomac river, so you get an amazing view of DC or the Pentagon, and sometimes a bonus: a harrowing hard right turn at about 300 ft. above the river! Mexico City, like Tokyo, seems to stretch to infinity, especially landing at night. But Marco Polo airport for Venice is special:

Our daughter’s apartment is part of a former Palazzo in Vicenza (lucky her). The building is from the 16th century, but her apartment was just renovated. There are fifty-four steps just to get in, and parking is a squeeze. The doors close sometimes, the windows don’t have screens but do have shutters, the floors creak, there are odd power outlets and vents and switches, and things are almost never plumb. It’s marvellous in the way only an old European building can be.

It would be hard to top our experience eating in France, but of course Italy is up for the challenge. Judy posted pictures of our 4oth anniversary feast: fresh breads, French olive oils and tapenades, soft cheeses, salami & bresaola & proscioutto, Aperol and Lambrusco and Valpolicella. Just what we picked up at the local grocery. They do know how to live here.

Unlike France and Spain, it is still easy to find a church in Italy. Oh, there’s a church building every other block in all three countries, but in the first two, the church is now a museum, or a gallery, or a bar, or a . . . you get the picture. In Italy, while it’s just as secular, they insist on maintaining the local parishes, even if they’re only a few blocks apart. Not as many parishioners, not as many priests, not as many masses, but still some.

We took a day trip to Bassano del Grappa, home of the eponymous Italian liquor, grappa. It’s at the base of the Dolomites, what the locals call the first range of the Alps in Italy. The town has a famous old woooden bridge (Ponte Vecchio), many timber houses, a museum of the Alpini soldiers, and plenty of grappa.

I’m glad to see photographic evidence for the metal rhinocerous. After the grappa museum, I wasn’t sure whether it was just me or . . . And while studying grappa up close, I found this map of European liquors, which should answer all your questions about vodka and brandy and calvados, too:

No trip in Italy is complete without a meal, so here’s our selection from the local bruscheterria:

Ciao, for now!

Guns, Violence, and ‘merica

We all know why everybody is talking about gun violence. Rather than yelling “do something” (always a great excuse for being ineffective), rather than mouthing “thoughts and prayers,” (what does that even mean anyway? As a religious man, I truly believe in the efficacy of prayer, but what’s with the “thoughts”? Are we suggesting good thoughts do something?), instead try thinking, not “thoughts.” Consider these aspects of a truly wicked problem*:

First: America has a unique gun culture. Absolutely unique. I don’t know whether it has something to do with the “new world” and our British heritage and the pioneer spirit and the Wild West. But no country in the world has such a strong affinity for firearms. You (and I) may not have this affinity, but America undeniably does. Pretending it doesn’t is ridiculous, as is pretending it can be wished away. It is as American as the Colt M1911. If you don’t get it, that’s okay, but stop saying things like “Switzerland doesn’t have this problem” because, well, no, no other country likes guns as much as America does. Period.

Second, America has a lot of guns. Most estimates indicate there are over 400 million guns in America today, which is more than one per the 330 million Americans. Yet most American households don’t own a gun. Gallup has been polling gun ownership since 1960, and it has slowly declined from 49% to 42%, while the sale of guns has increased. Warning: math logic problem coming up! If the number of households owning guns has declined, but more guns are being sold, then we know the increase is due to gun owners collecting more guns. Some folks get all excited about the total number of guns, but a gun collector who has twenty rifles and buys twenty more is not the problem, is it? All those guns still exist, so when we want to solve the problem, you can’t pretend they’ll just go away.

Third, Americans have a unique right to bear arms. Some people used to question this. The reigning liberal orthodoxy interpreted the clause “a well-regulated militia being necessary to the maintenance of a free state” to mean that guns were necessary to a military organization (i.e., the militia) and thus a collective not an individual right. However, the US Supreme Court had never ruled on this view until the Heller decision in 2008. There, Justice Antonin Scalia devastated this orthodoxy with a well-researched bit of originalism. The Founders viewed an armed citizenry as a state-of-being (not an organized group) to be called upon by the government, so the right was indeed an individual one. You’ll see opinion writers still arguing this point, but Scalia prevailed, and his historical record is impeccable. Many people just don’t like the implication of his majority opinion (which is understandable). No one cares whether Mexico or Canada or Australia treats gun rights diffrently. It doesn’t matter, because it’s our Constitution that pertains, not theirs.

Fourth, gun technology has changed little in the past 50 years. Ditto for bullets. The first fully automatic weapon was the Maxim machine gun produced in 1884. The infamous AK-47 is from . . . (wait for it) 1947. The Armalite (hence) AR-15 semi-automatic rifle came out in 1959. While technology like 3D printing will make a difference in how weapons are produced, nothing has recently made them more deadly or difficult to control. In fact, some new technology (biometric trigger locks, for example) promises to do the opposite.

Fifth, America has a broad, disconnected mess of gun laws. In fact, as Scalia demonstrated in his Heller opinion, America has always had various restrictions on guns. The fact that the Second Amendment is an individual right does not mean it is unrestricted; voting is an individual right, and we restrict it, too. Don’t believe me? Read the Heller opinion or the opinion written by the clerk who assisted Scalia in drafting it! States have limited who could own a gun, where they could carry it, even when they could fire it, and they have done so from the very beginning. Yes, the same Founders who wrote the Second Amendment as an individual right recognized many restrictions on firearms. Prior to 1968, there were few federal laws restricting firearms. This is important to our current debate: America had many guns, few gun laws, and much less gun violence, as recently as fifty years ago!

Sixth, America has a violence problem. H. Rap Brown got it right when he said, “violence is as American as cherry pie.” Where do otherwise normal people get into fatal road rage incidents? Where do strangers push people onto the subway tracks as a train arrives? Where do groups of teenagers challenge each other to knock passers-by out with a single sucker punch? Where do robbers beat a victim to a pulp in addition to taking a wallet? Where do police use overwhelming force to subdue non-dangerous felons? Where do teens lob bricks off overpasses? Where do people completely lose it because a happy meal just ain’t right? ‘Merica, that’s where. It happens elsewhere, but moreso here than anywhere else. Some characterize this as a mental health issue; others call it a problem of evil. They are both right. Whatever you want to call it, you must acknowledge that Americans seem to have a tendency to go to violent extremes quickly and fatally. Guns just make that easier.

Yes, you really did see that; good thing she wasn’t packing!

Seventh and finally (on a related note), America has a personality disorder. As in sociopathology. Somwhere along the way, starting about fifty years ago, America’s worship of individualism morphed into sociopathy, the mental condition wherein the individual sees themself as supreme, and all others as not-people, just objects to be used. I don’t know why this happened, but it shows up in many ways. The lack of concern for the poor or homeless (them, it’s their fault), the notion some people are better off not being at all (abortion, euthanasia), the unwillingness to take collective medical responsibility (masks, vaccines, etc.) are all of a piece. I am important; you are either an obstacle to my desires or a tool for my use.

Getting back to guns, and schools, and massacres, what are we to do? I keep mentioning fifty years ago, because in the Sixties the federal government, alarmed by rising gun violence among militant groups, started introducing more gun restrictions. But before then, school kids used to ride the New York City Subway to school with rifles slung on the shoulder, and no one thought twice about it. No one can doubt the relationship between firearms and school shootings (pull trigger, fire bullet, kill children). But why now? For what reason? Guns are clearly the proximate cause in these attacks, but our collective, degraded culture is just as clearly the underlying cause.

So what do we do? Address both the immediate and long-term causes.

One, the federal government should require all states to create gun registries. No national database, but every state has to keep track. Own as many as you like, just fill out the forms. Unregistered guns are federal felonies with mandatory jail time. Why? To demonstrate it’s important, that gun ownership is a serious matter, like voting. You don’t just go down to WalMart and get some guns. And illegal guns are a very serious offense, whether they’re ever used in a crime or not.

Two, limit gun ownership by age: twenty-five, twenty-one? Let’s talk about it! Introduce a cooling off period for weapons purchases: 72 hours before you can receive the weapon (if we can impose delays on seeking an abortion, we can limit how fast one buys a weapon). Then you must meet with a local police officer (three) within one week of purchase (not for approval, just for recognition and discussion about gun safety and local ordinances). When Tim the Gun-guy buys his thirty-first rifle, it’s not a big deal for him to go down and have a friendly chat with Officer Jones about local gun safety laws. But when the angry, young, white supremacist shows up, the local police might want to be aware he’s now armed.

Four, borrowing a line from Chris Rock, “you don’t need no gun control, you know what you need? You need bullet control.” Some people like guns, and guns can be modified to shoot faster, so focusing on limiting or banning guns is difficult. Same for magazines. But bullets are a pressure point. They are more difficult to make, especially in bulk, and why not place restrictions on ammunition? Want to shoot at the range? Buy bullets there, and use them or turn them in. Want to hunt: same. Want to just keep ammo at home, ok, but now you have to record them, inventory them, secure them, report them, and have them available for safety inspection. And tax the heck out of bullets which fit semi-automatic weapons, perhaps not in the range of Chris’ “$5,000 per bullet” line, but you get the point. Want to use a semi-automatic weapon to hunt? Ok, it’s your right, but it’s also a luxury.

Five, the federal government needs to step in primarily where state laws come up short. Having tight restrictions in a blue state right next door to a loose red state is a problem. Interstate sale and transport of firearms needs to be strictly regulated (it once was). All those travelling gun shows? Ok, but with oversight and strict enforcement, patrolled by ATF attempting “straw-puchases.” Treat gun trafficking as a form of organized crime, and any dealer or seller caught forfeits everything under the RICO statutes. We know who the problem gun dealers are; take them down. Congress also needs to influence gun manufacturers to adopt technologies like biometric trigger locks: give the companies legal immunity for weapons with such tech, but not for other guns. See how fast the industry moves to a safety-first standard! States should pass safe storage rules (locked cabinets, trigger locks, etc.) that limit the availability of loaded gun with no safety features.

Six, if we want to ban bump stocks, or large magazines, or other similar things, it’s a temporary solution, as there are ways around the rules. Sometimes it is important to make symbolic gestures, so if someone thinks this is important now, ok, but understand this only sends a message, it doesn’t really deter anyone.

Up to this point I have focussed on guns, so let’s talk about another side of the issue: kids!

Seven, schools are the ultimate soft target, children our most precious gift. We owe them a safe learning environment. We used to board airplanes like busses until we realized what could happen. Then we changed dramatically. Every school should have only one entrance with a metal detector and armed security during school hours. Extra exits with one-way turnstiles; we can secure a pay-to-attend sporting event, why not our kids? We don’t need armed teachers or armed parents. We need well-trained police and very simple, well understood security. It’s not September 10th anymore.

The deeper culture rot that affects America will be harder to fix. Red-flag laws are all well and good, but how about fixing what makes young men (it is primarily young men) decide killing children, or others, or themselves is a thing to do? Mass shootings are actually a tiny fraction of the problem, although they are stark example. Mass shootings generally account for less than 1,000 of the 45,000 gun deaths annually, of which slightly more than half are suicides. The absolute numbers have increased in the last half-century, but remember, there were 200 million Americans in 1968, and 330 million today. Pew Research data show the gun suicide and murder rate barely changed over the time period:

Eight, we need a variety of cultural programs to support the family as the basic unit of society, where decency, honesty, and respect for authority are first learned. We can’t treat families as a hindrance, and expect schools to teach all the basics of ethics and morality AND math, science, and literature. We tried, and it didn’t work. Yes, we need to fund more mental health efforts (nine), because we have multiple generations who have grown up without a moral compass, with heightened anxiety and little respect for our traditions and history. This is a debt we will bear for generations, but we have no choice. More importantly, we need federal policies (ten) which advantage marriage as an institution. No, that’s not fair to single people, or single parents, or a host of others. It’s what’s best for two-parent families, which remain the single best way to form a new generation of responsible adults.

For those who think, “what if we banned assault rifles” or “all guns” or repealed the Second Amendment: remember, our gun culture precedes these things. It will not change quickly, nor does it necessarily need to. As I pointed out earlier, we had many guns and few laws and almost no mass shootings, once upon a time.

The greatest school massacre in American history involved no guns. Look up the Bath, Michigan, incident of 1927. A disgruntled school adminstrator mined a school house, his home, and his car with explosives. He killed 44, injured 58, and would have killed twice that many if all his explosives had ignited. Call it a terrible case of American ingenuity, but it serves the point that evil, or mental illness, finds a way. So yes, let’s accept some common-sense gun restrictions, avoid grand-but-meaningless gestures, and really work on the culture problem.

*For those unfamiliar, a “wicked problem” is one so complex and multifaceted that it is really “wicked” (not in the sense of evil, but rather difficult) to solve. In the case of gun violence, the term wicked works both ways.

Mont St. Michel

As a friend, you know we travel a lot. We like to go places, and we like the places we go, and we enjoy the experiences of new lands, new foods, new adventures. But many places, while being nice to visit, just fail to live up to the hype. Which makes others stand out even more.

Mont St. Michel is in the latter category. There’ll be no Mont St. Michel replica in Vegas. It just wouldn’t work. The real thing is so amazing on so many levels: visually, historically, religiously, environmentally, that it simply stands alone.

Literally:

Bishop Aubert directed monks to start building the first abbey and church here in the 10th century. They kept building it higher and grander, first by expanding the footprint of the original site, then adding in domed and reinforced rooms to act as support for another level of larger church on top of the existing one. After many modifications and three levels, they ended up with the site as we see it today.

It sits atop a rocky island at the mouth of the Coueson river, which divides the Normandy peninsula from its Brittany counterpart. It became a national symbol of France when it withstood attacks for thirty years during the Anglo-French Hundred Years War. During the Middle Ages, it was an important center for learning and manuscript writing, but later its influence waned. During the French Revolution, it was seized (as was all Catholic church property), ransacked, and gutted. The Revolutionary government turned it into a prison for priests, a function for which it was to continue for seventy years of neglect.

During a French cultural renaissance in the late 19th century, the government began the long and difficult process of restoring the abbey. They built a causeway and tramway to the island to enable tourism, and started repairing the buildings. In 1969, Benedictine monks returned, and in 2001, sisters and brothers of the Monastic Communities of Jerusalem took over.

The aforementioned causeway had several negative effects. It greatly increased tourism, leading to a rash of tawdry shops and cafes along the single main street. The causeway changed the silting deposits of the river, threatening to turn the island into a part of the mainland. The French government spent millions determining a solution, which involved a new dam/sluice gate and a new casueway, which leave the island with its unique blend of massive sandy tidal flats at low tide.

I whined a bit about things that went wrong when we visited Chartres; here everything went right, with a nod to the French government for its well-designed and executed plan for the abbey. We bought tickets online (timed) and arrived in the parking lots (huge) on schedule. The free trolleys kept on schedule and got us to the base of the island quickly, if crowded. We managed the less traveled back road up to the abbey and got seats in the main chapel for Sunday mass. Lucky us, for a group of French Catholic Scouts had arrived, with two Bishops in tow (nary a rook or knight in sight)! Afterwards, we completed our “timed” visit to the abbey at our leisure, just before the holiday crowds jam-packed the main street.

It was an unexpected, albeit wonderful time. One caution: There is no French-with-disabilities act. The abbey was built as an agglomeration of several styles and editions, so there are literally about five hundred stairs (both up and down) within the abbey itself, after doing another five hundred or so to get to the abbey. And these are ancient stairs, with odd sizes and shapes, sometimes with added hand rails but more often none. It’s a challenge to the young and healthy, so you need to plan extra time; there is no hurrying along at the Mont!

Bayeux, Normandy

For such a small town in an out-of-the-way place, Bayeux is at the center of so much history. Bayeux lies just inland from the English Channel in the Normandy peninsula, where great apples, great cheese, and great history collide.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any cuter

First off, it was a seat for the Norman Duke William (the Bastard), before he set off in 1066 to conquer the Anglo-Saxon throne promised him by King Edward, but subsequently denied him by Edward’s brother-in-law, Harold. At the battle of Hastings, Harold got an arrow through the eye and William got the English throne, which came with a great improvement in nickname, as in William the Conqueror. Take that, Conan the Barbarian!

All of this history is captured in the Bayeux Tapestry, a real work of artistry in embroidered linen which tells the tale in seventy illustrations which make the story come alive even for an illiterate audience, as it was completed (probably) shortly after the Norman Conquest to celebrate William’s victory and substantiate his claim to the throne.

Next there’s the fact that Bayeux lies at the center of the line of beaches which gained World War II fame as the site of the Normandy invasion (great trivia question: how many US Marines landed in the largest amphibious invasion in history? None. The Marine Corps fought the Pacific campaign, while D-Day was a European Theater operation. No slight intended; just a great bar bet!).

We took a tour of all the famous American sites (sorry, only had one day, so we neglected our British and Canadian allies, let alone the Germans!). Random thoughts and photos:

Everyone has heard of the hedgerows in Normandy. They feature prominently in D-Day films and accounts of the battle. I never realized what made them so special. Nor did the Allies. Seems the simple translation for the French term bocage is “hedgerow,” something common also to England. But in England the hedges are purpose-built as fences. It seems the hedgerows in Normandy serve the same function, but they are the remnants of the original forests which covered the peninsula in antiquity. As farms and fields and roads were built, the builders simply cleared to the edge but left the forest strip at the edge: instant hedge. Except it is entirely natural, so it grows extremely dense, as in impenetrable. People can’t see through it, and have difficulty traversing it. Vehicles bounce off; even tanks are forced into an unnatural elevation which exposes their weaker belly-armor. Which made Normandy a battlefield with close-in surprise engagements. Enough of that!

Utah beach landing site went fairly easy

You can easily see the differences between the US landing beaches. Utah has a gentle dune with less fortification. Omaha has a steep bluff with interlocking German military positions. My Omaha picture is the pathway made famous as Dog Easy Sector in Saving Private Ryan.

I was really excited about visiting St. Mere Eglise, the first town liberated in France. But it’s become some kind of Paratrooper-Disney production, complete with a paratrooper dummy hanging from the belfry! Now that really did happen the morning of June 6th, but why is the square filled with tourist kitsch, US Army Jeep rentals, and military surplus stores?

The American cemetery is a favorite of all nations, as it is well-kept by US taxpayer dollars!

On the other hand, the American military cemetery is a treat: well-planned, manicured, with excellent monuments and art, all set on the bluffs overlooking the beaches. This is a can’t miss site, and make sure and visit for the flag lowering/taps at 5:00 pm sharp!

Normandy is famous for its apple ciders (especially Calvados) and Camembert cheese, a decidedly delicious combination! And of course seafood galore!

We thoroughly enjoyed our days in Normandy, which by chance happened just before the annual commemoration of the June 6th landings. While a few sites were closed for preparations, and the crowds were beginning to swell, the weather was excellent (helpful hint: it’s the coast, there are always tremendous winds, so the temperature usually feels 10-15 degrees colder than it reads).

Lisieux

You may never have heard of it. Or know why it’s famous. But it’s a story worth sharing.

Once upon a time, in the late 19th century, there was a young girl named Marie Françoise-Thérèse Martin. She went by Thérèse, and grew up in the little French town of Lisieux. She decided to enter the Carmelite convent at age fifteen in 1888, following the path of her two older sisters. There she served the quiet, dedicated life of personal and collective prayer of the Carmelite order. After nine years of working, reading, and praying, she endured an eighteen-month battle with tuberculosis, from which she died. And she would have passed unnoticed into the hereafter. Except she also wrote, and her writings held great signifcance.

Thérèse had always felt a call to be holy, but as she learned more about her Catholic faith and the lives of the Saints who went before her, she felt discouraged. She was not called to lead armies like Jeanne d’Arc, or to counsel Popes like Catherine of Siena. She simply followed the rules set down by Saint Theresa when she reformed the order, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed. But she pondered her situation mightily, and wrote down those thoughts she developed. She called it her “little way” and described it thusly:

“I will seek out a means of getting to Heaven by a little way – very short and very straight little way that is wholly new. We live in an age of inventions; nowadays the rich need not trouble to climb the stairs, they have lifts instead. Well, I mean to try and find a lift by which I may be raised unto God, for I am too tiny to climb the steep stairway of perfection. […] Thine Arms, then, O Jesus, are the lift which must raise me up even unto Heaven. To get there I need not grow. On the contrary, I must remain little, I must become still less.”
St. Thérèse

She committed to doing everything she did so as to show love to others. No great deeds, no miracles, no deeply-developed theology. Just her little way. She lived by this creed, and wrote about it in a journal which was published posthumously as The Story of a Soul. Her final months were agonizing but she embraced the suffering with the same joy she embraced her life.

Her memorial crypt (no, those are not her remains)

After her death, her “little way” became an international sensation. She was canonized (recognized as a Saint) only twenty-eight years after her death. The meaningful way she relates the call to holiness to everyday life has found welcome reception among the faithful on every continent. Then-Pope John Paul II named her a Doctor of the Church (one of the four women so honored out of thirty-three total doctors), a title given to those Saints whose development of theology or doctrine has special authority.

The little girl from Lisieux has a profound worlwide following, and a great basilica in her honor. She answered the question “what has prayer ever done?” by changing millions of lives with hers. She also proved that while being great may be good, being good is always great.

Chartres

When you travel, you have many plans, with many options and even more contingencies. You try to put all the pieces together, and you work hard to make all the various components fit. Sometimes it all works perfectly. Other times, well, were today.

Irony alert

We got an early start from the Meuse valley and headed across Paris to visit Chartres, home of the famous 12th Century Gothic Cathedral. Not just any church, or even any Gothic Church: THE crème de la crème of Gothic Cathedrals: Notre-Dame de Chartres. We planned to arrive around noon, tour the Cathedral, eat late dinner, catch the evening illumination, and be off the next morning. This was certainly a one-and-done leg of our trip, consciously so, but it was also the only such leg.

Alas, we were using two forms of driving directions: Waze (which includes traffic) and a rental car GPS system (which doesn’t). Unfortunately, we had the latter (not the former) on for voice instructions, and the GPS took us straight into a massive traffic jam. We recognized our mistake and switched, but by then we were only one of many Parisians and tourists trying to maneuver down backroads, across parking lots, heck trying anything to get where we were going. This should have been a clue: why so much traffic around noon on a Thursday in France?

Thus we ended up arriving closer to two in the afternoon, but still with plenty of time to tour the Cathedral. We went to a little cafe across the square, obviously a favorite of locals and tourists, to get some lunch before the tour. While we were lunching, I glanced at the visiting hours for the Cathedral, which read: “Holiday: some hours may be changed or restricted.” “Holiday? What holiday?” I mused. Now as serious Catholics (Judy & I liken ourselves to Shi’ite Catholics, to borrow comedian Jim Gaffigan’s line), we knew it was Ascension Thursday, but this is secular France, for Godssake! Even back in the States most of the dioceses have conveniently moved the celebration from Thursday to the next Sunday, to avoid putting too much burden on the faithful.

But in France? It’s a national holiday! Holy day? Maybe. Holiday: Tout à fait! So there was heavy traffic headed out of Paris in all directions (especially to Chartres, which is just an hour away by autoroute). And there were crowds and tour groups all over the place. English-langauge guide books: nope. Guided tour headsets? No. Wait, what if we wait for some to be turned in? Nope, no more today (at 3:30 pm). There was free concert planned due to the holiday, so the Cathedral was closing early. Mind you, we weren’t missing out on the tour because obligatory Mass was planned on a holy day; we were missing it for a public concert on a holiday!

We were able to walk around with the crowds and get some happy snaps:

The Cathedral is as impressive as advertised. Built with flying buttresses around the sides, it enabled the ceilings to be higher and the walls to be thinner, and to include larger windows, which were filled with original stained glass. Despite its antiquity, the building is mostly “as was,” never bombed out and replaced like so much of Europe.

Even our room was unique, and had a view:

In the evening, the town illuminates twenty-one different historic structures, but of course the Cathedral is the main attraction. The illumination was about twenty minutes long and took on several different (sometimes whimsical) themes. They were all amazing, as you’ll see:

In the end, we had a good meal, got to experience the Cathedral–if not learn much about it–and witness the illumination. Worth the marginal pain and suffering!